A pain spreads across blades of my bone, as tendrils of haze reach unto deserted ground below.
Tin rises to sink on banks either side and I am reminded of the grovelling condition we cut into the sodden bowel.
The rasp of a child twists its way between tongue and pursed teeth.
Later,
my mind feel's as though its being run along the dull side of a blade as a wisp of serbian language flits between steeled legs.
I observe the splitting of a shadow as splinters of my sanity begin to fall,
I shiver at the sight of a skinned apple.